


Please Don't Say You Love Me

by FelOllie



Series: Twit Fics [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, Human Castiel, Light Angst, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 00:24:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16608308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelOllie/pseuds/FelOllie
Summary: For the prompt:Person A: W-who do I shoot?!Person B: Them!Clone: No! They’re lying! Remember? I love you!Person A: Shoots the clone.Person B: What the-Person A: “I love you” sounds like something you wouldn’t say to me.Person B: Okay, WOW-





	Please Don't Say You Love Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all!
> 
> Quick and dirty fic, written while I was wine tipsy, so pay no mind to whatever mistakes you find. 
> 
> Enjoy!

If Dean has said it once, he’s said it a million times -- fuck witches.

And while normally Castiel would argue that witches are relatively low on the scale from residual hauntings to Lucifer himself, in this particular instance -- and this one alone -- Cas is forced to admit that Dean is probably right.

Witches just might be the actual worst.

 

***

 

Where they found shelter for the evening is a long way from the Louvre, but Cas sits quietly nonetheless. There’s no one else to talk to in the bland, dingy motel room anyway.

Another page read through from top to bottom and he’s flipping to the next, absently digesting what he reads. Cas can follow the thread of the story, honestly cannot tell you the name of the protagonist, but it beats pacing a trench into the floor while he waits for Dean to return.

Splitting up while on a hunt is, without fail, a terrible idea. Someone inevitably catches themselves a shiny new Near Death Experience to lug back to the bunker and Cas isn’t sure why they (coughcough*DEAN*coughcough) continue to make the choice to separate, but he doesn’t want to fight about that too, so he ends up agreeing. 

Minimal fuss.

The problem is that Dean was already angry when he left. Much angrier than he has ever been at Castiel. Their relationship is new even if their friendship is not, and Cas is frustrated with himself for screwing things up so spectacularly in such a miniscule span of time. It makes waiting for Dean to return to him a much more emotionally taxing endeavor. 

Cas is antsy, only half paying attention to what he’s doing while the rest of him fixates on the betrayal darkening Dean’s gaze when he walked away.

_“Dean, I’m sor--”_

_“It’s fine, Castiel,” Dean grits, the muscle ticking at the bolt of his jaw. “It was bound to happen again eventually. Besides, the universe isn’t satisfied if it doesn’t find a way to fuck me over on the daily.”_

_Cas watches him drop down onto the edge of the bed and begin stuffing his feet back into his boots, shoulders tight and movements sharp._

_“I will fix this, I promise,” he tries, panic brushing the surface of his mind when Dean won’t meet his gaze. He can feel fear and desperation spark and ignite behind his ribs, making his lungs feel too small to support his body’s oxygen requirements._

_Dean barks out a disgusted laugh and dons his jacket, pocketing the keys to the Impala like they’re actively attempting to escape the grasp of his hand._

_“There is no fixing this,” he says, already heading for the door. He stops and casts eyes over his shoulder, mouth a hard line. He doesn’t make eye contact. “I…” he sighs, anger written in each line of his remarkable face. “I’ll call Sam. See you later.”_

And then he was gone, a slammed door where he stood the second before, and Cas felt like he was crumbling.

It’s been six hours and Dean still hasn’t returned to the motel. The sun is long set, Cas is getting more and more anxious by the moment, and Sam hasn’t answered the last three times Cas called him.

He’s about to break Dean’s rule for location tracking when they’re fighting, but then he doesn’t have to.

The motel room door creaks when it swings slowly open and Dean steps through. His entire demeanor has changed -- shoulders soft and rounded, jaw relaxed. Even his eyes have gentled. He yawns when he shrugs out of his coat and tosses it over the back of the chair parked beside the rickety desk table. 

Almost a minute passes, during which Cas has no idea what move is most appropriate so he does nothing, and Dean’s smile slips.

“Uh, hey Cas,” he offers, tugging at the hem of his green henley to straighten out the wrinkles across his chest. “Everything okay?”

Cas’ eyes narrow. He searches Dean’s body for a signal, but his spine and limbs are loose, no tension lingering. 

“How did it go?” Cas asks, moving to close the divide between them. 

Dean shrugs, watching him. “Nothing to write home about.”

They’re still too far apart but Cas doesn’t want to push, so he stops a few feet away. “You’re not angry anymore?” 

Huffing out a breath, Dean goes for the bed. He sinks down at the foot of it, the corners of his mouth pulled down the barest hint.

“I’m too tired to be pissed off,” he says, pressing his palms flat beside his hips on the blanket. “It’s almost midnight, can we talk about this tomorrow?”

Disappointment rushes through him, but Cas nods. “Of course,” he says quietly, eyes fixed on the wall behind Dean’s right ear. “I will just… go wash up.”

Cas leans against the bathroom door when it closes behind him, his heart too heavy in his chest. Dean must be even more upset than Cas originally estimated. Not wanting to talk about his feelings is predictable, but Dean always, _always_ lets his anger out. Of all the things he holds in, rage is the least likely to be suppressed.

He’s just beginning to consider just how worried he should be when the tinkling of shattering glass sounds from the next room. Cas rips the door open bare chested, sweatpants slung low on his hips when he rushes out, making the hems just long enough to trip him up. Stumbling out into the tiny kitchenette, Cas swings his head up and is greeted by a sight he has only seen in his fantasies.

“Dean?”

Twin expressions of confusion assault him from across the room. Twin as in _identical_. There are two very irritated Dean Winchesters circling one another on the far side of the room, a broken rocks glass crunching under the thick soles of their boots, and Cas is thoroughly perplexed. They’re even wearing the same clothing, down to the scarred leather belt.

“Cas, that ain’t me!” the Dean on the left shouts, cheeks flushed an angry red. “The witch conjured him up before I could gank her and h--”

“Get your blade and cut that fucking thing’s head off, Cas,” right!Dean orders, eyes never leaving his doppleganger.

A weapon is a good idea either way, so Cas sidesteps his way to his duffel and slips his hand inside. The weight of the machete in his palm helps ground him. 

“I do not anticipate one of you simply owning up to deception,” he tells the pair of them. Because it isn’t a question; he knows that whatever is going on here, the imposter isn’t going to out itself. Castiel just has to keep them talking long enough to figure out which is which.

“Cas,” left!Dean tries again, “You know me, man. Better than most. You can tell the difference, can’t you?”

Lifting the blade, Castiel holds it up in front of him and positions it parallel to the floor, keeping both Dean’s at a safe distance. “Stop talking.”

Right!Dean ignores the command. “Call Sam,” he suggests, waving a hand at Cas’ cell phone where it rests on the nightstand. “Let us talk to him. He’ll know the difference.”

Pain shoots through Cas’ chest at the insinuation that he cannot tell these Deans apart, that Sam is the only person on the planet who can tell his brother from a fake, but before he can toss anything back left!Dean is aiming a gun level with right!Dean’s forehead and the room explodes in chaos.

The tornado of Deans is a mess Castiel cannot hope to untangle alone. The two of them collide with so much force Cas is almost shocked they don’t simply absorb one another. They hit the floor with a heavy thud that rattles the broken glass littering the sticky carpet and roll.

“Cas, kill him!”

“Shank this mother, Castiel!”

Cas wavers indecisively. “I am unsure which of you is the real Dean,” he admits, despite the hollow feeling it carves into his stomach.

One of the Dean’s manages to octopus the other, wrapping legs around the others hips to stop him from getting back to his feet. Then he twists the other Dean’s arms up awkwardly behind him, using his elbow to jab between Dean 2’s shoulder blades, essentially pinning his chest to the floor.  
“Do it, damnit!” Dean 1 barks, teeth grinding with exertion as Dean 2 struggles to get free.

“What if I kill the wrong one?” Cas yells back, anxiety making his throat tight. 

Face smashed into the floor, Dean 2 pleads, “He’s lying, Cas. He isn’t even really human!” 

His words are slurred since he’s mostly eating carpet, but they tug at Cas’ heart. Dean 1 shouts again but Cas is already moving closer, eyes on the trapped Dean, barely able to see his eyes. 

“Come on, Cas,” Dean 2 says, then winces when the other Dean twists his arms harder. “I love you, remember? You have to know it’s me!”

Without another moment’s hesitation, Castiel swings the blade down and severs the head from the neck of the Dean who just professed his love.

Dean 1, the real Dean Winchester, throws the body off of his and bolts upright. “What the hell, Cas?!”

“What?” Cas asks, head tilting as he calculates how they’ll get the remains out to the car without anyone noticing.

Dean balks indignantly, gesturing at the dead not!Dean. “He said he loved you and you cut his head off! What if he was actually me?”

Cas tosses his blade down onto the table, then pivots around to meet Dean’s wide, wary gaze. 

“You -- my Dean -- would not have said those words so easily given what I did,” he says. He knows his shame is bleeding through each word but he can’t control it. 

He’s shocked to see the color drain from Dean’s face.

“You… Cas, tell me you don’t really believe that,” he says, so quiet it’s almost a whisper. 

Castiel can feel the blush blooming in his own cheeks. “I scratched your car, Dean. I know what it -- what _she_ means to you. An apology is not enough--”

“Cas.”

Cas lifts his eyes hesitantly, but the fond amusement mixed with sadness lighting Dean’s expression makes him glad he did. Dean is his most beautiful when he’s raw like this -- exposing parts of himself no one but Cas gets to see.

“Baby is… well, my baby. I adore her. But you… you’re something else altogether,” Dean tells him, an earnest smile pulling up the corners of his lips. “Yeah, I’m pissed about the paint, but it’s just paint, sweetheart. You’re… you.”

Undiluted love lances through Cas so hard his hands are shaking when he he reaches out to twist them in the front of Dean’s Henley. Their mouths meet hard, teeth clicking, but Dean readjusts them with practiced ease and cards his fingers through Cas’ hair. The moan that thrums through Dean vibrates in the center of Cas’ being and calls forth an echo.

“We have to get moving,” Dean murmurs when they part. He leans in to nip at Cas’ bottom lip, his tongue sliding over the sting to soothe it away. Cas shivers, but releases Dean’s shirt and flattens out the wrinkles. 

“Should we expect more duplicates?” he asks, looking down at the leaking, headless corpse lying on the carpet beside them. 

Dean shrugs. “I don’t think so, but I’m sure we’ll find out.” 

Cas nods and goes to start packing his things, but Dean’s hand at his waist stops him. They’re so close their still sharing air and Dean pulls Cas in closer. 

“I love you, Cas, never forget it,” Dean tells him, his tone firm. “Don’t go cutting the heads off anymore dudes who look like me just because they say it, okay?”

Cas kisses him again, slow and lingering. When he draws away, he doesn’t go far. Cas presses his forehead to Dean’s, both of their eyes fluttering closed.

“Perhaps you should tell me more often,” he suggests.

Dean’s laugh makes him grin.

“That was subtle,” Dean teases, making warmth blossom in Cas’ chest. “But I’ll do anything for you, Cas. Even that.”


End file.
